Get Well Soon
by Homicide Genius
Summary: Hanna falls unexpectedly ill, but when no one can figure out why, it's up to Gallahad and friends to find out, not only why he is sick, but the truth behind the hallucinations that plague him. A series.
1. Hallucination

{**An UnDead Overture**}

I want to consider that none of anything that happened to Hanna was my fault, but at the same time, I know and understand that all the blame rests on my shoulders. I should have taken him to Worth sooner, should have listened to the truth, but I was foolish. I chose to be greedy, to use Hanna's unhealthiness to determine answers that I wanted, to learn more about him. I am guilty, and the only thing that makes this any worse is that everyone - excluding Hanna - knows what I did. They all see me differently. It's not their opinions that bothers me; it is the fact that they know how guilty I am. It would be one thing to suffer in total silence - I can live with myself. But it is another thing entirely when you are constantly reminded of your crimes.

Hanna, I know, will probably forgive me when I gather the courage to finally admit my crimes. In his feverish delusions, the things about himself he told, the secrets I learned...No, I actually think he might feel relief. The things I discovered, the thoughts I heard - Hanna has always feared his friends leaving him, has always thought that if everyone knew the hideous truth, they would leave him. And then there would be nothing. But the fact that I knew - and stayed - would make him both happy, although I can't believe that even Hanna wouldn't be just a little disappointed in me. In fact, I'm sure I'll see some new emotion creep up on his face, some expression I'll regret seeing. I know, one day, I'll pay, but I'll gladly wait until then.

Won't you hear me out? You must think me to be a horrible person at this point; I'll admit - I do too, but you don't know all the details. You don't know, and at this moment, I'm debating with myself; Should I even tell you? It isn't as though you'd go running to Hanna - or at least, I hope you don't. And even if you did, he might not even believe you. But then again, when I tell Hanna, I should know what I want to say...It might be good to rehearse a little.

Get comfortable - I'll just start from the beginning.

* * *

I'd noticed that, during the day, my little ginger friend was tired and quiet, but I only brought his newfound fatigue into the light once or twice. In response, he'd get hyper, and then calm down again, as if hoping I wouldn't realize. I'd considered that night not going on one of my wanderings. "No, Holmes! We need foooood!" Hanna whined, as if eager to have me out of the apartment. I was fine with this; I know people want personal space, I just wish he'd have been more up-front about it. "Please get Lucky Charms while you're gone, Ichabod!" Hanna called out to me as I stepped out of the apartment door.

I came back several hours later, (I'd lost count after the first two), with four boxes of Lucky Charms and two bags of chocolate chips. I had made chocolate chip muffins before, in an attempt to get Hanna to cook with me, but we ended up being blasted into the opposite wall. I hadn't made muffins since then, afraid to give Hanna the sort of war flashbacks soldiers get when they come home after someone drops something. I don't know why, but the thought of Hanna being terrified of muffins was amusing to me. I crept into the apartment, figuring Hanna would be asleep on his designated mattress. I stepped into the front room of the apartment, taking a quick look around.

Looking back, I realize how foolish I was in looking at the mattress last. I saw a catbed Hanna had gotten for me as a joke, the hamster cage in which Hanna kept Luce, a rather large cockroach we'd gotten at Worth's, and several other things of interest we'd accumulated over the months. Finally I looked to the mattress on the floor to see if I'd waken my friend, but I was met with nothingness. No one was on the mattress, although I noticed right away a sickly sight; there was a pool of vomit on the floor.

I dropped the grocery bag and dashed into the kitchen, the only other place he would have gone, and found the small and frail redhead collapsed on the floor. At first I mistook his short and labored breathing for twitching; he looked as though he'd just run a marathon. After I kneeled to the ground at his side, I turned him over to see yet another pile of vomit and a rune on his hand; one of which I hadn't seen before. Sickly panic rising in my stomach, I picked up the half-conscious man and laid him on top of his bed, and afterwards tended to both the pools of sick he'd left, leaving a bucket at his bedside for future use.

When I came back, he seemed much more awake. I put my hand on his forehead, afterwards realizing I couldn't really feel hot and cold well enough to tell if he had a fever. "Hanna? Hanna - are you okay? I'll take you to Worth -" I said softly, trying my best not to startle him. I started to get to my feet to get him a jacket when I felt him tugging weakly on my coat sleeve. "No - I d-don't wanna get up..." He muttered, half his face buried in the pillow that was older than I was. I could tell by the visible half of his face that he was clearly in agony. "I'll - I'll take you when you fall asleep." I muttered, sitting back down beside him. He nodded and turned over onto his back; clearly having trouble breathing into a stuffy old pillow.

I would only leave him to get water, or to clean out the bucket, but I was with him at all other times. Sometimes he would cry out in pain, others he would be at peace, breathing rapidly all the while. I could only watch in horror as the minutes turned to hours, until I realized Hanna was in so much miserable pain he wouldn't fall asleep until he was physically exhausted. But I promised inwardly to sit with him through all the pain. I watched, but the longer Hanna lay there, the worse he seemed to have gotten. It was nearly dawn at the point in which I began to notice his eyes darting to the left every other moment. It seemed with every passing minute, he would look in that direction more and more, until it seemed he was staring at the other side of the room. I filled with dread when I realized what was happening.

"Hanna - Can you hear me? What're you looking at?" I asked, my voice climbing in volume and shaking slightly all the while. I watched as his eyes filled with fear and his mouth opened to let out an inaudible scream. I sat him upwards, and he complied without protest, to give him a drink of water. He looked defeated, I noticed, as I tipped the glass. Hanna's eyes did not leave that corner all the while he was drinking. When finally he'd finished the glass, I put my hand on his shoulder. "Can you tell me what is bothering you? Can I fix it, Hanna?" As if on cue, Hanna closed his eyes tight and shook his head.

"...Gotta do something...not breathing, have to save him..."

That was all the sense I could make out of Hanna's fevered rambles, watching with a stab of horror as I glanced to the exact spot in which he would stare; seeing nothing. Hallucinations. I began to panic; I had to take him to Worth, but he looked like he was in so much pain, I wasn't sure how to get him down the street without causing a hideous amount of pain and a scene. So I tried my best to soothe him. "No one's there, Hanna...Lie back down."

"No! Claus...He'll die if I don't watch him...die without me..."

Claus? Not a name I was familiar with - in fact...Hanna had never used that name for me before. I watched in confused silence as Hanna weakly grabbed his magic marker, writing yet another unfamiliar rune on his palm, muttering some phrase I couldn't comprehend. Before I knew it, his palm was smacked onto my forehead, and my surroundings - including Hanna - were fading around me, until all that was visible was the rune, which glowed silver in the blackness.

I watched as surroundings began to blur back into comprehensible things, although I didn't recognize the room I was in. My hearing became profoundly acute as small phrases found their way into my head. "...Tell you a story" was the first whispered phrase I noticed. It was similar to possession - although these thought weren't my own. And I wasn't afraid or confused. Even in a dazed fever, I trusted Hanna. That is where my crimes started; egging him on. I put my curiosity before his health.

* * *

Hope you like this one more than the last!

Hanna is Not a Boy's Name! belongs to Tessa Stone

Although I'm pretty sure someone else used the idea of Hanna being sick before, I just gonna keep going on.

Click that Review button!


	2. Remember Forever

I quickly realized that I was able to move once again, and took full advantage of this privaledge by popping my neck. In doing so, my eyes were cast downwards slightly, and I saw a nice, although dated, photo of a family. The two people on either end appeared to be in their mid-thirties, or older. The man had a huge grin on his face, showing proudly his crooked teeth. The woman, whom I assumed to be his wife, was standing to the right, her hair in a ponytail, smiling a tiny bashful smile. Her arm was attempting to reach its way around the wide shoulders of a certain child I recognized as a younger Hanna. He was obviously a teen, although age and Hanna was often a very confusing concept. He appeared at the time the photo had been taken to be about fifteen, probably older. I chuckled inwardly when I realized that Hanna was probably born looking fifteen; but there was something...Different...About that particular smile. Held in comparison to the smiles I knew him to wear, this was a sad mediocre imitation. A mere grimace next to his patented Goofy Grinn™.

I stopped in mid-thought, however, when I saw movement in the corner of my eye. I spun round, and as if I'd imagined him, Hanna stood only a short distance away. I waited in the silence, waiting for him to notice my presence. When he didn't, I must confess I felt a little offended.

"Hanna?"

No answer. Within moments I was faced with an obvious conclusion; I could not interact with a memory past. I could only watch in silence, and so I did. But I did not approach Hanna; I had noticed in my thought the couple in the picture. Their ages were more obvious, giving me a better time frame to compare the photo with. They appeared to be late thirties by now, I suppose. Although I am constantly surrounded by humans, I think my ability in guessing their ages are...Weak. But there the couple sat, their posture bent in an obvious exhaustion. They seemed to be heavily debating, and I took a sidestep to better overhear their conversation, while also trying to keep Hanna in my sight.

"-seen him at it. He watches Claus. Do you think he knows…?"

"No, Matilda, I don't. Hanna has been this way since we took him home three years ago. He's not changing. I want him out. Claus is only four months old, I won't risk this child, too."

"I think so, too, Hank, but is sending him away really the best choice right now…? Do you remember what his parents said?"

"Sure, - He attracts all sorts of ghosts or something - I don't believe it. Hanna's just...Sickly. I don't need him around Claus."

I listened until I couldn't bear to hear anymore. I knew Hanna had heard exactly what I had, with such a short distance between us, but he seemed unaffected by his adoptive parents' words. He seemed…Adapted to them. I hesitated. I knew I wasn't supposed to be hearing these things…But I hadn't chosen to, had I? Hanna wanted me to know these things.

I watched with heavy unease as time sped on, and every night Hanna would check on young Claus. Until one night, he actually walked in. I noticed right away; he had a concealed gun, I could see it catching the glint of the flourescent light. I dashed to the doorway from my seat on the hall floor, pausing only when I heard a thud. I covered my mouth in horror, not daring to look inside the small child's bedroom.

But I had made an error. Hanna had not fired a gun. Yet. The thud had come from the front door, which I stood in close enoug proximity to misunderstand what I had heard. I stood frozen in absolute dead fear as it burst open, and three men clothed in black stepped unwelcomed inside the home of Hank, Matilda, Hanna and Claus Cross. Fear bubbled in my stomach when I rememberd Matilda and Hank were out. The men were obviously thieves. The one in the middle directed the other two men in opposite directions while he walked down the hall Hanna had been in only seconds ago.

I watched with sickened horror as he creeped into the room in which Hanna stood with a gun. I bolted in, finally, to see Hanna with a gun to his own temple, obviously surprised by the burglar, who now had a gun pointed at the sixteen-year-old Hanna's spine. I watched, processing the scene in slow-motion. In Hanna's turn, the criminal fired his gun, and Hanna fell to the ground, although I hadn't seen where the bullet entered the skin, if at all. I wanted to kill that man, I wanted to so badly, but I knew I could not interact with a memory. That didn't stop me from kneeling next to Hanna, panicking, watching him in pain that I could not dull. The thief quickly silenced the baby Claus as well. But Hanna wasn't done yet; With what strength he had, Hanna used the gun he'd entered the room with to shoot the burglar in the foot, who promptly kicked my surely dead friend on the ground for several minutes. He and his fellows left several moments later with most of Hanna and his family's belongings. I watched on the ground next to Hanna as he seemed to become less and less of this world.

Hours of hellish suffering later, Hanna's parents came home from their dinner. They found their two sons, one barely alive, one dead. In their grieving rage, they blamed Hanna for the death of their son, which was obviously misdirected mourning. Further investigation proved that the gun left behind had Hanna's fingerprints on it, and gunshot residue. But there was one horrible twist: The bullet that the murderer fired at Hanna could not be found, and since Hanna only had that one bullet, which the runaway robber carried in his foot, there was no possible way to determine who had actually shot Claus Cross. His murder went unsolved. As for the burglary, I could just hear Hanna's adoptive parents talking to investigators,

"He has _horrible _friends! He must have let them in! _He killed our baby_!"

...

I watched the rest of Hanna's life in barely understandable and inaudible segments; his being sent to a mental hospital, his escape, meeting Worth and Lamont, and many other things. But the world began to fade to black again as Hanna sat in the park, looking almost like the Hanna I know today, though he still looked diseased, and he was holding his chest as though he could not breathe. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was shaking. I was able to catch those few moments of that final memory; a ghost stood behind the quivering Hanna, and just when the blur began to wash over the seen, I saw the ghost of an aged, and hideously angry, Claus Cross wrap his ghostly pale hands around his brother's neck.

* * *

I woke up on the floor a while later. Hanna was obviously exhausted from the use of that rune. I stared at him in disbelief for a few moments, before he passed out from pain and weakness. It took me a few moments to gather myself, unable to comprehend the things that had just happened to us. But, just as I promised, I picked Hanna up in his sleep and left the apartment.

Upon opening the door to Worth's I was met with a slew of his usual obscenities, though I found them to be sense of home more than anything else. He had been throwing glass around, I noticed after I took a quick glance at the floor. I actually had to dodge as an old vial zoomed over my head. He didn't seem to notice as I set foot in his dingy office. It wasn't until I cleared my throat that Worth acknowledged my presence.

"Damnit, Hanna, I ain't giving ya any of my surgery stuff! Quit askin!"

When I didn't respond, Worth spun round to make a comment on how silent Hanna was, when he noticed the unconscious twenty-four year old man unconscious cradled in my arms. He rolled his eyes and lit up a cigarette.

"Oh, shit, Zombie. What, didya go ghost hunting again? You two the ghost busters now?"

I was silent for a moment. I didn't know how to respond to Worth; Hanna usually did the talking.

"Hanna – he's sick. He was vomiting – I think there was blood in it, and he's been hallucinating."

Worth didn't seem stricken by realization until I had brought up the hallucinations. He spun round with a scalpel in his hand and pointed at Hanna with it, trying to look casual. But, and I could be wrong, was that worry on his face?

"What'd he talk 'bout when he was loony? ...You didn't see anythin' did ya, Zombie?" Worth asked, taking a hit of his cigarette, and spinning his finger beside his ear. The universal sign for craziness, I assumed.

"Does it matter? No, I didn't see it - He was talking about someone named Claus…What? I don't understand – how do you know who Claus is?" I asked, beginning to get frustrated with all the information to which I was ignorant, even with the bewfound comprehension of Hanna's childhood. Though I wasn't about to share that with the stingy doctor. Worth seemed deep in thought, an expression on his face which almost frightened me.

"Nothin' I can do fer 'im. Take 'im home, watch 'im, he'll be fine. Now get out." Worth ordered, his face unusually blank. I also noticed a lack of obscenities in his speech.

"Wh- you're just going to let him get worse-?" I began, cut off by an earsplitting shout -

"Get out! _Get the fuck out_!"

* * *

Trips to Worth are a pain in the _butt _to type!  
Sorry for the late update! It's pretty funny actually; I'm sick now.  
Thanks for sticking with me and reviewing!  
This chapter was really hard for me to write, but the next ones will only get better! Promise!

So anyway, Hanna Cross is Tessa's, but Claus Cross is mine.


	3. Just a Cold, Seriously

Edoodle: I'll update Wednesday night or Thursday morning. Sorry for the false alarm.

* * *

I was not about to abandon Hanna; Worth was the best aid Hanna could afford. He understood more about Hanna than anyone I knew, and I would be dead again before I left without doing everything I could for Hanna. I took a step closer to the plainly jarred doctor, who took a step back in reply. All the sudden, I just had the nearly irresistible urge to lunge at the man; Hanna was infirm, potentially dying, and he was insisting on dancing with me. I lay the debilitated man-child on a desk, and while Worth immediately wrinkled his long nose in disinclination, and I raised a hand.

"One way or the other, I am getting answers."

"Ya can't always get whatcha want, Zombie."

I was tired of delaying. Curling my hand into a fist and sent it flying at Worth's jaw, who responded too late, which left my fist colliding into his jaw with a sickening crunch. As Worth toppled to the ground in shock, I watched as he furrowed his hand into his coat pocket, pulling out a scalpel. Things were about to get serious, fast. I braced myself for the worst, because I knew Worth would gladly use that scalpel.

"Ya wanna try that again, Zombie? I'm not fuckin' 'round. Take the kid and get the hell outta my office."

"Why won't you just help him? What cost would that be to you?"

"Its nunna yer damn business, Zombie – "

"I think my friend dying makes it my business. Tell me what you know."

Worth glared at me radically before jumping with alarming ease to his feet and pointing the scalpel at me threateningly. I didn't dare back down, he knew something; why else would he be ready to stab someone? I was quick to make a plan in my mind. If Worth made to attack, and I did not doubt that he would, I would simply retaliate and get the scalpel away from him. How much damage could a neurotic doctor do?

It had been half-witted of me to think that I could easily take down Worth without any harm to myself. He was five times quicker than I had originally perceived, easily plunging the scalpel into my abdomen before I had a second to react. I grabbed the forearm that held the medical instrument, but that didn't daunt Worth at all. He seemed, in fact, to have been enjoying himself. I believe that solves the mystery as to why he always wanted to be a doctor.

But I still had a few tricks yet; while Worth was busy trying to make mincemeat of my stomach, I twisted both of my hands with which I held the doctor's wiry wrist. With profound force I didn't know I possessed, I could feel and hear Worth's wrist cracking under the pressure. He howled in anguish, sprang back, and clasped his hand, which dropped the scalpel. I was quick to put my foot over it, so he could not recover the weapon. I couldn't very well pick it up, now that I had a gaping hole in my side which radiated pain even as I stood there.  
We had stared at one another for a moment, obviously weighing the pros and cons of continuing the fight. In hopes to fix the break, Worth bit his lip and pulled his arm back and high as he could before bringing it down as hard as possibly could on the wall next to him. After shouting obscenities that I didn't even know existed, he held his wrist again before turning it, allowing it to pop back into place. A silent agreement had been made. Without looking at Hanna, he opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out bandages, tossing them to me.

"'Mont found 'im. I'd quit med school, cos I didn't want to be a lovey with patients. 'Mont brought the kid in here and told me to fix 'im up…What can I say? The moron grew on me. Me and Lamont got together 'nuff money fer him to stay in some 'partment, but Hanna would always drop by. Tellin' me 'bout some ghost…"

Worth paused in the middle of his bitter recount to take a look at Hanna. I could tell I wasn't going to like this story.

"By the time I'd operated on Hanna, he 'ready had that scar on 'is chest. Never told me 'ow he got it. But once, I got 'im to talk about Claus. Got 'im drunk, that's 'ow. Told me everythin'. Look; you should talk to 'im yerself. S'not my business…'Nyway, he's been worse off than this 'fore you came along. The only thing you can do fer 'im is talk to Claus. That ghost is the reason he gets so sick."

By the time Worth had finished speaking, and by the time I had been able to sift through his butchered accent, all I could do was nod to show that I understood. But there was still one thing…

"Why don't I see Claus?"

"Yasee that rune on 'is hand? He created that one. Keeps people from seein' what he sees."

This announcement left us in stillness. I began to put together everything; it all made sense, according to Worth's story. And another plus: I could do something to help. I could stop Claus from making Hanna worse. I nodded again to Worth, and lifted Hanna off the dusty desk, and crossed the office to the door.

"Don't think yeh'll figure it out on yer own. Call up Count Fagula, and whoever else. An' – hey – don't tell Hanna what yer doin'."

"Right…"

I left after that, hobbling slightly from my new wound. I confess I felt a little proud, having sustained such an injury. Although to an outsider, I probably looked even less trustworthy now that I had to limp slightly in order to keep Hanna from touching the wound. To Count Fagula's, I decided. Conrad would be able to watch over Hanna while I investigated the ghost. But I decided to disregard most of Worth's advice; I was perfectly capable of solving this problem without dragging everyone else into it.

* * *

"Why me!"

"Just take him, Conrad. I can't leave him to anyone else."

"_Hell no_, he's sick!"

"You're _dead_. You can't catch it."

"Oh – right. Well, I don't want him throwing up everywhere! Why don't you just watch him!"

"Then get him a bowl. I have to get help."

"So just take him to Worth's – my friend has a car, she'll drive us."

"Conrad – just trust me. I can't leave him with anyone else, I've already seen Worth, and I'll fill you in on the details later. If he wakes up, just…Play him music. Queen."

And with that, I left a pissed Conrad Achenleck standing in the middle of his own apartment, with a sick, and still unconscious, man on his favorite couch. I decided not to consider the possibility that Hanna might wake up and see Claus, kicking and screaming, vomiting on Conrad's furniture. It was not a pretty picture, and I was not ready to relive it. No – I had a job to do. I couldn't spend my time worrying.

* * *

I stood in front of the park's gate, a little shaken. It seemed the logical place to go – being the location in which Hanna's last memory of Claus had taken place. The world around me seemed to be in autumn, but the closer I got to the park, the more chilled the air became. I could still feel, mind, but I was still working on temperature. This intense cold, however, was so chilling that it left me shivering. But I pushed open the century-old gate, and stepped into the lonely park, the dead grass crunching under my feet.

The park itself was rather pleasing to look at, like a winter wonderland, minus snow. I wrapped my arms around myself as I entered, my coat being whipped around me by an impossible  
gust of air. The trees had icicles hanging from them, some looking sharp enough to stab someone with. The flowers that had once blossomed were now withered and gone, unable to stand these harsh conditions. There was a large hill in the middle of the park with a tree atop it. From there, I decided, I could see the entire park.

As I took the last agonizing step to the top of the frozen hill, grasping tight to the tree for support, I took a quick look around every corner of the park. But when I felt a tap on my shoulder, I turned just in time to see Claus as an adult ghost, smirking behind me. The smirk looked as though it was Hanna's – if Hanna had an evil grin. Claus actually looked more human that ghost, as actual color was finding its way onto him. He was taller than Hanna, although not as thin. Claus's face was without any scar or mark, minus the gaping bullet wound between his eyes.

"I thought you'd come…I never _did _catch your name."

* * *

Thanks for the reviews guys! You're awesome!  
Butchered accents are hard to type! Suddenly, I appreciate Tessa more, who happens to own Hanna is Not a Boy's Name, although I have to admit, I had fun making Claus.  
Chapter Four should be here WEDNESDAY, if I can manage it.  
I feel so much better now! I'm finally over my head cold.

_Finally._


	4. Jaundice

[**...**{**Meanwhile**}**…**]

The apartment seemed to fill with bitter silence the instant the zombie fled the room. Conrad didn't actually mind, although he did find it a little...unsettling...That Hanna was so still. Before that day, Conrad wasn't even sure that kid could get sick. Nothing ever put him down - Except maybe the attack from that one ghost, and maybe Adelaide, but she did that to everyone. Glancing nervously over his shoulder, the paranoid half of Conrad Achenleck couldn't help but wonder if Hanna had been assaulted. Zombie had said they'd been to that hack already, and if Worth couldn't fix Hanna, there was obviously more to the story.

Deciding he would wait till Hanna woke up to ask questions, Conrad made himself comfortable on a chair across the sofa, finally getting a better look at Hanna. The redhead was practically gasping for breath, although the way Zombie had laid him down made him look casual, almost conscious, with his right arm thrown over the side of the couch. But there was something different...Conrad leaned forward, squinting to get a better look at Hanna's palm. There were two runes there...Neither of which he'd seen before. Both seemed to be fading away. But before he would think about the foreign runes, Conrad was startled as Hanna opened his mouth and let out a raspy cry. He sprang to his feet, and looked over Hanna with pity and guilt. He'd almost dumped him on Zombie, who wouldn't have had the necessary aid to help the kid.

"..._Hanna_?"

Conrad stepped gingerly towards the couch, still instinctively afraid of catching Hanna's fever. however when Conrad got closer, he realized two things; one, Hanna's mouth was filling with blood, and two, when Hanna opened his eyes, they were both yellow. Jaundiced. Conrad began to panic. Should he have gotten water for the blood, or should he take Hanna to Worth? Conrad began to feel horribly dizzy, realizing Hanna's blood was making him thirsty. Quickly covering his nose with a rag he'd gotten to wipe up possible spew, Conrad lifted Hanna from the sofa, his human instincts kicking in. It was then that Conrad came to the third conclusion; that gurgling sound Hanna was making? He was trying to scream. Conrad didn't know where the zombie had gone, but he knew that he was the only one who actually knew anything about Hanna's disease, because Conrad didn't have the time to cart the kid to Worth's.

* * *

"Fine, I'll start out, then. I'm Claus Cross...And you are - ?"

My face turned from blankness to something close to a grimace. It didn't seem Claus was out to harm, although he was throwing an icicle into the air and catching it again, as though it was an instrument of sorts. I tried to focus on his words instead of his weapons; I detested that tone - that overly-earnest tone. Motherly, almost, as though I didn't know how to be a proper human being. At my side, my fist curled, and judging by the twitch in his lips, I'd venture that Claus had noticed it. But I had to be careful - I'd come for answers, or at least clues, not a confrontation. I tried looking away from Claus, tried ignoring him, but my eyes were met with a sickly sight; in the dry grass behind Claus lay several dead birds. There were thin and sharp icicles sticking through each of them.

"I don't have a name...But I know one you might be interested in...Tell me what you did to Hanna."

Claus's eyes narrowed at the mere mention of Hanna. Other than the instinct to compose myself, I couldn't help but watch the apparition in bewilderment; he was very different from the ghost of Lee. Whereas Lee had been bony and solid-appearing, Claus looked to be nothing more than a silhouette behind a cloud of colored smoke. Or at least, he did when he was bothered.

"I've seen you two together - you treat him like he's a good person."

"...Isn't he?"

"_Are you kidding me _- didn't you see the memory? Hanna shot me when I was in _diapers_. I'm pretty sure that makes him the bad guy."

I raised a brow. How could Claus possibly remember something from his pre-childhood years? He had no proof that Hanna committed the execution. The investigators had no evidence binding Claus's death to Hanna.

"I saw the memory, I saw the thief - "

"Oh, please. That's what the doctor thought. I'll let you in on a secret; _they're Hanna's memories_. He implanted the robbery. When he went into my room that day, he planned to shoot himself and I. The idiot just forgot to put two bullets in. You can choose to believe what you will; I know the truth."

I had to stop myself. I was here to help Hanna, not get him in trouble. I could see Claus shaking in the anger of his death, and my voice became slightly softer to suit the change in mood.

"I choose to believe my friend, and stand by him...But won't you help him? He's fallen sick and -"

Claus couldn't seem to stop himself from exploding with laughter, so I waited for him to finish, suddenly finding myself thinking about Jekyll and Hyde. But as I observed...I could see Claus becoming...More - Well, _solid_. Could a ghost become solid? I wasn't sure if it was wise to ask, although it was a good distraction to keep myself from attacking him.

"Hanna Cross doesn't get sick. Not naturally sick, anyway. Only humans can get sick."

"Well I'm certain he's not faking to get out of gym class-,"

"Then make double certain. Hanna is about as human as _I _am. Actually, he _is _as human as I am - I suppose..."

Before I could even open my mouth to question Claus's statement, I heard to my far left the screeching of gates and the unmistakable shouting of Conrad Achenleck. Glancing forward to see Claus's reaction, I was only half-suprised to see the ghost's mouth become a appalling grin at the sight of his dying brother. But the longer I looked at him, still more solid he would become. By the time Conrad was clawing his way up the hill with Hanna on his back, Claus almost looked human, aside from the grin and the blood on his face from the frozen-in-time gunshot wound.

"His eyes are all _yellow _- he's been screaming, but he just stopped - Who the hell is that...? What happened to his face!"

"Claus Cross. Oh, good...you brought Hanna."

* * *

Thanks again to **Kirsten-Korona**, who helped me out _a lot _with the making of this chapter, and to everyone else who reviews and reads! It means a lot, guys!

Only a couple chapters left - and maybe an epilouge! I plan on making it a tear-jerking ending, though, so get ready!  
And I've already got an idea for my next project!  
Tessa owns HiNaBN, clearly, and I own the fanfic and the character Claus.

Should be an update on Friday or Saturday! Sorry again about Tuesday.


	5. Ruairi

I watched as Conrad explained, and my brow furrowed in doubt. How could Hanna have gotten very much worse without myself or Worth noticing before Conrad did? I shifted my weight to get a better look at Hanna, who seemed too weak to will himself to look up at me for several minutes. A ghostly flicker of a smile danced on the border of his mouth, but quickly disappeared when his honey-colored eyes trailed over to Claus. Hanna's brother rolled up his sleeves and approached Conrad, who raised a brow at the specter.

"Put him down, moron. I know what I'm doing."

Conrad craned his head back to the redhead wordlessly, and Hanna nodded tiredly. Conrad glared at Claus as he let Hanna slide down from his back, careful to stay close in case the infirm man couldn't hold himself up. Claus seemed to be biting back a smile as he looked Hanna up and down. The redhead was shaking as though the winter breeze could knock him down, his eyes were the color of the sun, and for some reason, Claus seemed to find all this amusing. I had half a mind to get out the hammer. But before I could even so much as say anything, Claus shot his arm out and grabbed Hanna's wrist and examined his left palm. Claus looked up at Hanna after a long moment, which had clearly been spent in deep thought.

"I know you showed the Zombie - that's this rune," Claus muttered, pointing at the very middle of Hanna's palm, "But what is this one...? I haven't seen it before..."

Hanna coughed, as if to make his presence known, "I - uh, didn't think I'd get this bad. I didn't want Dante to see you..."

"Too bad, then. You wasted a rune - and an existence, apparently."

"Wh-what are you saying...?"

"Those runes? They're killing you faster. I mean, _aside _from the disease, of course. That's _my _fault."

Hanna stumbled backward, but Conrad saved me the trouble of catching him, leaving me open to jerk Claus by the collar of his shirt. Stillness enveloped the park, the only other sound being the wind as it whistled blankly through the branches.

"You - it's _your _fault?" I mumbled, barely able to speak through the rage that was boiling a hole through my stomach.

"What the _hell _is your problem!" I heard Conrad hiss, but Hanna seemed to be thinking fast, as if the situation we were in was a sort of puzzle. It was a sight to behold, when Hanna lifted his head in hurt fear.

"For how long?"

"Since the Deal. I'm tired of wavering between human and ghost whenever you decide to use your runes. So I pulled a few strings..."

"_You talked to my dad?"_

"I didn't really _say _anything. I just asked him if he wanted to be the one to kill his son, or if I should be the one to do it."

"He - he didn't _care_?"

"Of course he cared. Just - not as much as he used to. I mean - you _did _sort of ruin his life. The whole, 'being born' thing was a bad idea."

At first, I had wanted to avoid a conflict for Hanna's sake, but beating his brother senseless seemed to be the only reasonable option at that point. Tightening my grip on his collar and throwing his body head-first as hard as I possibly could against the nearby tree, I listened as Claus fell to the hardened dirt with a soft thud, which satisfied my anger slightly, having put a nice dent in the side of his face. I put my boot down on his chest, but Hanna waved his arms, motioning for me to stop, and so I complied, not wanting to further upset my friend.

"Yeah - not a smart move..."

Claus muttered as he got to his feet and brushed the grass off his black and gray argyle sweater. I expected him to retaliate, but he didn't. He just wrapped his arms over his chest and looked Hanna over again before picking up and icicle.

"So, Hanna...Give me one good reason not to just-" Claus waved his arms, "-end it all now."

"You...Don't know the whole truth. You'd be killing me for no reason."

"So I'm stupid as well as helpless? Think of a better reason."

"Not - not what I meant - what I mean is...I made a deal with him too, when you were born."

Deafening silence ran rampant through the park as Claus looked from each of us, until finally his gaze came to a halt and stayed rested on Hanna. He seemed to be concentrating on his every word, as though there would be a test later.

"Show me."

I was taken aback, to say the least. Claus had said it himself; the runes would kill Hanna if he continued to use them, why would he risk his brother's life for a simple confirmation? Couldn't he just once believe Hanna?

"Only if I can bring Achilles and Conrad along."

"..._Fine_."

It wasn't a matter of choices - not that I was bothered. I just found a certain disdain for being spoken of as if I wasn't there. Nevertheless, while Hanna shakily carved a rune into the tree with an icicle from Claus, the three of us circled round the base of the old tree. The rune was a large circle with a triangular shape in the middle in which Hanna had his hand pressed to. He instructed each of us to place our right hands on one of three lines that would protrude out of the circle. Hanna muttered an incomprehensible phrase, and I felt the familiar sensation one might feel if they were being drowned.

* * *

When finally the world around me became composed once again of understandable shapes and colors, I took a look around me. I had the odd sensation of knowing where I was, but being unfamiliar with my surroundings at the same time. A sort of nostalgia washed over me when I realized I was in a parking lot, and I thought back to our first meeting with Ples Tibenoch. I let memories take over my mind as time began to slow down once more into a normal rhythm. Until it was safe to move, when I realized a redhead with horrible posture was walking past me.

I wish it had been as simple as blindly trusting Hanna. I was insanely worried, and curious, but I found myself content with allowing Hanna and Claus to sort out their own issues. I knew that while Hanna would have told me if he wanted, I wished I could have been more informed. But as I followed a sixteen year old Hanna, I began to wonder if _anyone _knew his story. Did anyone know what went through his mind on a normal day? How well could someone really hide themselves? How well could Hanna Cross lie?

When at last Hanna came to a stop at the end of the parking lot, in some dark corner no one would ever want to leave their car in, I couldn't help but wonder what he could possibly be doing in such a place. All thought left my mind when a voice snaked its way through the air -

"Was wonderin' when you might show up, Hanna. Now c'mere...Tell me what ails ya."

Okay - I was expecting some sleazy Lamont-like guy, too. But the man that emerged from the shadows was definitely not who I expected Hanna's biological father to be. For one thing, he had an Irish accent. Another; Hanna was his spitting image, although this man was definitely taller, though just as ridiculously thin. His hair was probably a shade lighter than Hanna's and just as much a hopeless mess, although instead of baby blue eyes, he had warm dark hazel ones in their stead. He seemed to radiate light, so to speak, even in the darkness of the parking lot. Hanna looked to be just fine with sitting on the dirty ground next to him and calmly talking.

"Hi, dad. I just wanted to talk to you about Mr. and Mrs. Cross..."

"What's wrong with 'em? Are they mean to ya?"

"No! They - well, they had a son..."

"Mazel tov." He muttered as he reached beside him for a bottle of what appeared to be some sort of alcohol.

"Yeah - that's what I told em. But - "

"You are wonderin' if they'll keep ya."

"No. I'm scared for their son - Claus - their last two kids died while they were babies and -"

Hanna's father ran a bony hand through his son's mangy hair. He heaved a reluctant sigh as he looked over his son with a sort of weighted sadness. I could only feel fear for the conversation after this point.

"Look - Hanna, ya can't protect _everyone_. If I have to take Claus - then I'll have to."

"Not if I give someone else up for him."

"Don't you say that, Hanna. Yer mother wanted you to have a _normal _life - givin' that up would...It would kill ye slowly -"

"But he's just a baby! What am I supposed to do?"

Hanna seemed determined, as though he'd inherited the stubbornness of the Irish. So that's where it all came from. I found myself unable to stand; suddenly overwhelmed with the connections that were being made mentally. Hanna's father spoke as though he would have to take Claus - what was he, some messenger of death? As if obsessed, I probed the Irishman's face for some sort of will to refuse, but he gave in as quickly as I would have.

"Hanna - if I do this, you have to promise me somethin' -"

"What is it?"

"Jus' listen. When you start...Hurtin'...Talk to this man...He's a good friend o' mine, knew yer mother."

Hanna listened, heavily concentrating on his father's words. The older man pulled out a piece of paper, wrote down a few things, and handed it to his son, an obviously apologetic look in his eyes.

"Yer mother would hated me fer this - she never wanted you ta meet Worth..."

"Just tell me what I need to do."

"...You'll need blood. As much blood as you can get yer hands on..."

I couldn't listen anymore. Thankfully, I didn't have to. I watched as Hanna's memory became less and less visible, as though it became fog the more I looked at it. It quickly became replaced with a new memory, one different than the one I had come to think was real. Hanna walked into his baby brother's room with a gun in his hand, ready to make a sacrifice. But this time, I walked inside the room. I heard the thud from outside, as though the memory was slightly faster this time. But there was one critical difference; Hanna's father stood inside Claus's room. But when the thieves invaded the hallways, he ducked into a nearby closet. I watched, slack-jawed, wondering inwardly how bad a parent he was, reminding myself that his supposed friendship with Worth was enough proof to convince anyone how ill-suited this man was to father a child.

After all was said and done, the Irishman stumbled out of the closet, either having been very drunk or having had a difficult time with turning the knob. He hovered over the body of his dying son and crouched down. Hanna was obviously wavering in and out of consciousness when all this was going on.

"Fate's a bitch, ain't she...Don't worry, little one, Ruairi's here ta save the day..."

I watched as the man that called himself Ruairi quickly slipped a pair of gloves over his hands as though he'd done it a thousand times before and proceeded to hold up his dying son to the baby in the crib. Ruairi quickly whipped out a marker and wrote out a few symbols on Hanna's wrist, a few more on the baby Claus's unmoving chest, and took out a knife. I couldn't bear to watch as he sliced a thin, clean cut on Hanna's wrist. To this day, I do not know what he did with that blood, though I'm sure it was grotesque and horrible.

When all was done, Ruairi was careful to lay Hanna back in the position he'd found him in, and exited the house. How his being there went undiscovered by investigators, I didn't know, but I did know that I was going to start locking the apartment door. I watched, for the thousandth time that day, as Hanna's memories began to flicker before my eyes, as we were fast-forwarded back into present day, only fragments of his history clear to the eyes, but inaudible to the ears.

Although I didn't know at the time exactly what significance this memory would be to Claus, I did find it, if anything, heartbreaking. To think that Hanna's own father hated him enough to carry out the deed, but loved him enough to let him live...Was - well, unbelievable, in serveral ways. I had no idea what Hanna could have possibly done to make his father loathe him so, but I decided that would be left to another day as I slowly regained my senses on the cold earth of the frozen park.

The first thing I heard made me come crashing down to earth; Hanna's releasing a deafening and agonized scream.

* * *

Soo tempted to just end the story in this one chapter- but that wouldn't be fair. I decided to write one more chapter - and an epilogue.  
A Thanksgiving/Christmas present from me to you!  
I hope you can enjoy the rest! Click that review button!  
Thank you, by the way, for all the reviews so far! They've kept me and this story breathing!

And don't worry about the loose ends - I've got em all tied. Except maybe one or two - just to mess with you guys.  
And about Ruairi - I know Cross isn't an Irish name, but that's not _his_ last name. Also; I felt the story could use an Irish guy. Maybe if he's well-liked, he'll appear in another story. _Maybe_.

Happy Stuff-Yer-Face-Day!

And to all a good coma!


	6. Antagonist

In seconds, I was on my knees at Hanna's side. He was writhing in anguish, and his cries became raspy until finally his voice was choked. His eyes were dancing fiercely in every direction. I put my hand on his face in alarm, wondering why he hadn't seen me yet. He cringed at the contact, but when he discovered my presence, he made no delay in grabbing my sleeve, as if I would disappear if he didn't have me anchored down. I had to will myself to speak, I had to keep my voice level for his sake.

"Hanna - how...How bad is it?"

"I - It's bad...I can't - can't even see, R-Ringo..."

I gasped inaudibly, witnessing as Hanna curled his back and jerked my arm toward him. It was a sickening sight to behold, and I had to look away as my friend fell back onto the ground, his chest heaving. With his free hand, I noticed, he was clutching his stomach. Was that perhaps the source of the disease? With hope that maybe - just maybe - I could mend something, I used my unoccupied hand to pull back Hanna's shirt. I winced in horror at the sight of it, the bruise-like splotch on his abdomen, within close proximity to the zipper-like scar on the front of his chest. It was at that moment that Conrad sat up, shielding his nose with both hands. His eyes were actually watering, presumably from the stench of Hanna's magic. His eyes widened in suprise at the sight of Hanna's stomach.

"Holy shit...I think - he's bleeding internally..."

"What - wait, what can we do?"

Conrad shook his head slowly; after inspection later it was revealed that one of Conrad's teenage friends was in a car accident, and Conrad had been the one to get the kid to a hospital. The doctors told him everything, and that was how he was able to recognize Hanna's state. That's when everything began to really fall apart.

"Oh, god...I don't think we can do _anything_...Worth's too far away..._Oh my god_..."

Silence. I couldn't look at Hanna. I couldn't bear to think - No. There was a way,_ there was always a way_. Hanna and I always made it out, albeit with a few bumps and bruises, but we always got out. When I'd first moved in with Hanna, he unquestioningly let me into his world. With him, I had finally found somewhere new...I wasn't about to let those memories go.

"No. No - Wait..._Claus_. Claus - You can fix this. You're the one that made him ill - You ... You can make him better."

"I - I can't...It's too late...He's dying..."

If it weren't for Hanna clinging onto me with all the strength he could muster, my feet would have been on the ground and my fist would have been in Claus's face. I turned the most hideous stare of contempt I could come up with.

"Then you'd better think fast. _So help me _- if Hanna doesn't make it -"

Claus looked up at me, as he had been staring down at his lap. There were actual tear streaks on his face. My expression softened, but did not let up. I knew I would kill him for what he'd done to Hanna. But the fact that he was remorseful...

"You - ah - saw that memory...Right? Ruairi was...A Reaper. He travelled the world for the souls of the dead...But he was one of the few that made Deals...The Deal I made was that if Hanna died, I would be restored to human life. The Deal Hanna made counteracted my Deal in that he sacrificed himself to keep me alive. But..."

I raised a brow at his story, my arms beginning to quiver with anticipation.

"And...?"

"I'm - I'm so sorry, Hanna..."

I looked from Claus to Hanna to Conrad, my expression grim. Hanna seemed to be unnaffected when he heard his brother's apology, as though the words held no value to him. As if he'd known the truth all along, and had accepted it.

"It's just...How Ruairi would have w-wanted it..."

Claus chuckled at this, though his sad attempt at a laugh was nothing more or less that some sort of hiccup. He rubbed his eyes and scooted closer to Hanna, running his hands through his hair. He waited a moment, as if thinking Hanna would speak. He looked from Conrad and I until finally he seemed to gather his courage again.

"I...I never wanted to be the bad guy, Hanna..."

At this, Hanna smiled, and let out his own hacking attempt at a laugh. Claus smiled too, in response, and watched with deep sorrow in his eyes as his brother began to seem less and less...Human. I couldn't be still, I was shaking nearly as much as Hanna at that point. The man seemed at peace with the world, and for a moment, I thought he was only sleeping, that he would wake up and another day would follow us, that this void would be left behind, and these memories would be forgotten. It was a sorry mistake to make.

Again Hanna's body convulsed, and he pulled his legs to his chest as he rolled his head over to one side, and he vomited again. But this time, even as Conrad reacted, I knew what it was. I didn't have to look to know that Hanna was know vomiting blood. I winced as Conrad let out a sort of hiss and fell backwards, obviously startled again by the blood. He had to look away, but just as it was the same for me, I knew he couldn't bear to not say good bye to Hanna. I, however, refused to believe that it was truly the end. And apparently, Claus shared my view.

"_A Stór Mo Chroí_..."

Those were the only audible words Claus spoke as he grabbed Hanna's arm, the one Ruairi had made some inscription upon, and proceeded to rewrite several symbols; or so it looked from my angle. I watched in a helpless daze as Hanna became tougher to hold on to, as though he were regressing from reality. Claus continued to lisp words as he aloowed Hanna's arm to fall back to his side. Once again, he rolled up his sleeves before sending his palms down through his brother's stomach, as though Hanna was nothing but paper.

* * *

A Stór Mo Chroí - If you have a good memory, you might recognize this as the lyrics used by Rocketshoes in her guest comic. I took the liberty of making it a reoccuring thing - though it is an actual song, and I recommend you listen to it. /Coincidence/ It's Irish; I totally didn't plan for Ruairi to be Irish, too. I love how that worked out.

Taking under consideration, once again, the advice of Kirsten-Korona, I have decided to let you guys down slowly. I'll try not to drop you, though.  
I think you'll like the ending though, after I tweak it a little. Also; this chapter is subject to editing, since it was 12:27 or whatever when I published it, and who _knows _what sort of magical unicorn crap made its way in there that I didn't even notice.

**Whew **- let me just say ahead of time this has been a massive blast to write. I really appreciate everyone that stuck with me and reviewed - and especially the people that didn't because I didn't know how to turn on Anon comments at the time. _Herp Derp_. Hard to believe it's only been like a week (and three days) since this started.

Thanks again, guys.  
**Seriously**.


	7. Hope and Tomorrow, Magic and Dreams

Hanna's eyes widened, as though he was silently objecting to having two hands groping around in his stomach. But when he tried to speak, his voice was nothing but simple choked sounds that were hopelessly strung together to form incomprehensible attempts at speaking. His eyes still searching the air at a hazardous speed, Hanna let out another deafening scream, and a murder of crows nearby fled from their roosts in some nearby tree. The dying man's hand fumbled around on the ground as though he were looking for something. Quickly getting the message, I laced my fingers around Hanna's.

"Gallahad - you g-gotta stop C-Claus -"

I looked up from Hanna's dancing eyes and was met with Claus's hazel ones. There was a look of confidence, and perhaps pity, as well as some third emotion I didn't quite recognize. But all the same, something in the brother's expression told me that he wasn't hurting Hanna; not anymore. I nodded to him, and he continued to make blue smoke rise from Hanna's stomach, who desperately tried to squirm away. Conrad, who I'd just remembered was there, shielded his nose again, as if the smoke burned the inside of his nostrils.

I squeezed Hanna's hand in mine, and in that moment, I realized I could actually hold onto him. He had become more...Solid. I gasped at this reality, realizing what Claus had decided. He had decided to give up his one chance at existence to save Hanna's life...Even after an unlifetime of promises of death and suffering...

"Listen to me Hanna - I want you to find Ruairi...I want you to find dad, and I want you to tell him where I - where I've gone...Got it?"

"No - Claus! I...I don't think I c-can..."

"_You have to_."

Hanna closed his eyes tight, as if he didn't want to hear what he was being told, as if Claus's last wish was a death sentence. I listened as Claus chuckled at his brother's reaction, though I didn't quite understand what was going on, I couldn't help but smile in spite of myself. I knew Hanna would be okay. But there was a certain sadness that tugged at me, as well; Claus had to sacrifice his being in order for Hanna to remain of this world. It was certainly a cruel thing, but was Ruairi really to blame? How could one man cause so much sorrow?

As Claus began to fade from the arms upward, Conrad and I watched in astonished silence as the blotch from the internal bleeding on Hanna's stomach began to evaporate, as though Claus were vacuuming it into himself, using his arms as outlets. Hanna's breathing seemed to become less labored, as though some great weight had been lifted from his chest. But the moment was bittersweet, as Hanna had actually begun to cry at that point.

"Hanna? Does it hurt?"

"It shouldn't. He just doesn't want me to go."

"But - where are you going?"

"...Wherever I end up."

Claus muttered all this very quickly the gritted teeth, as though he had begun to feel the strains of Hanna's disease. I looked back down at Hanna, and I was suprised to be met with calmed eyes. _He _wasn't actually calm, as he was still shaking terribly, but his eyes had stilled, and the canary yellow to them had left, replaced with a blotchy red that naturally occurred when one cried. When I looked up again, Claus was no longer solid - he had taken on the type of look Lee Falun had as a ghost. Hanna gritted his teeth, as though the final moments of Claus's existence where painful ones.

"You c-could stay..."

Claus chuckled at Hanna's unexpected request. The specter opened his eyes, which where more like smoking orbs of canary yellow and looked down at his brother before shaking his head slowly.

"There wouldn't be any room...And besides - look, it's snowing..."

Claus tossed his head upwards, and as he did, a snowflake landed on Hanna's cheek, melting down the side of his face. Hanna's whitened lips began to quiver as he had to squint to watch as brother faded into nothing but blue shards of what appeared to be ice, until finally he began to blend in with the tiny, crisp, snowflakes, as though he were a collection of light blue fireflies. Claus Cross was no longer of the world. Hanna let out a single cry, stifled by the onset of chocking tears. He turned onto his side, burying his face in my forearm. I looked up again at Conrad, who had his legs pressed to his chest. His eyes were reddened as well.

"Come on, Hanna..."

I murmured as I scooped up the broken man in my arms. Conrad, too, got silently to his feet. He looked up weakly at me, as if he didn't know where to go from there.

"We need to see Worth...We'll deal with everything else later - you need to rest, Hanna..."

No response.

He would need time. But what did I know? I had never lost anyone before. I suppose the fact was made worse by the fact that Claus could have no burial. His name would only be remembered by a handful of people, but at least he meant something to those few people. At least he wasn't simply just a memory one would idly recall out of boredom. As Hanna clawed his way onto my back, burying his face in the back of my neck, we started down the hill with Conrad at our side. The vampire was strangely silent, but I figured he'd speak up once we were at Worth's.

I didn't have to glance back to know that Hanna looked back at the hill from where we stood at the entrance to the park, as if hoping that Claus would be standing there to wave good-bye to him one last time. The sniffle I heard confirmed the fact that Claus was not there. I had to will myself to put one foot in front of the other, only beginning to grasp the impossible loss Hanna must have begun to feel. How it must have felt to walk the line between life and death, having been ready to die, only to be brought back to life by one he would have gladly died for. We stepped through the winterly void, travelling across black and white silent memories. In the distance, wedding bells could be heard tolling - proof that even in the coldest and darkest of moments, people were brought together. I rubbed at my eyes with a free hand, listening as Hanna's breathing became slower and slower, until finally it lulled to near silence, and the sort of lip-smacking sounds he made when he slept, as though he were a fish.

* * *

Not so used to typing deaths - much less sad ones! I'll probably be back to edit, though.

Really hope you guys like this - but there's still more to come, just you wait, I'm not through yet.

Thanks again for the reviews! They're like tiny little gifts to me.


	8. Parting

"You don't really need me for this, do you?"

It was Conrad; presumably exhausted, cold, but at least he wasn't shouting every obscenity he knew. I had just opened my mouth to speak when Hanna's left arm reached out and poked Conrad's arm, which was as far as he could reach. His voice was muffled, as his face was buried in my neck, although the vampire seemed to understand him well enough.

"Noo...Don't go Connie...I have to explain, anyway..."

I craned my head to allow Hanna to see half my face. My expression was worried, a strange twist to its usual solomn look. "No Hanna, get some rest."

"I'm fine now, really. Just listen, I really need to tell you guys...I _just _figured it out myself, actually..."

Hanna scratched his forehead in concentration, puffed out his cheeks, and furrowed his brow. I turned my head back - I didn't have to look back to know he was using his thinking face. Did that mean he was feeling better? No, he would probably need more time. Knowing Hanna, he just liked to talk about things, which was fine. I'd listen to anything Hanna said.

"When...When Claus was a baby, I was talking to my dad, Ruairi a lot. He - ah - killed people for a living. Still does, actually...But, anyway, I knew I could talk him into a Deal...Which are traps he uses to make people kill each other, but I thought I could bend the rules a little - I told him that if Claus were to die, that Ruairi should give Claus my entire soul, so that he could live on, even though he would techincally be half dead, which is really, _really _bad."

Conrad turned his head towards Hanna again, throwing the man a wary gaze. I had to remind myself that he was still somewhat new to the world of the paranormal, though he was clearly hesitant to bring up Claus in conversation. "I don't get it - he was a ghost...Wasn't he? And you're still here..."

"Claus...You saw how he became more human as I got sicker, right? Well, that's because we _shared _a _soul_. Being the bastard that he is, Ruairi didn't keep his half of the bargain, and instead of giving Claus my _entire _soul, he split it between the two of us. Since Claus had actually died, whereas I was still breathing, I took on the dominant half of the soul. I'm _sure _that's what happened. Sounds like something Ruairi would do..."

"_Why_? Why would your own father do that to you? Or to Claus?"

Silence. Had I said something wrong, or was Hanna deep in thought again? I fidgeted a little, hoping for the latter, cursing myself inwardly for even egging him on.

"I...Don't have a clue."

It hardly mattered anyway; we were at Worth's door. The doctor didn't seem too fond of ghosts, and I had no idea how he would respond to a conversation solely about them. Hanna slid down off my back, obviously wanting to parade his health in front of Worth, though I doubted he'd tell the doctor exactly what had taken place, which begged the question - Should I?

But when Hanna flung the door open and smashed it into the opposite wall, stillness gripped our small party. Worth was at his desk, along with a few other people, clearly playing a game of poker. It wasn't so much that we didn't approve of gambling, it was simply who was at the desk that made all three of us cringe in harmony.

Worth, Lamont, Casimiro, Finas, and a frail man with his back to the door. He threw his hand of cards down, swooped up all the money, and let out a thick, booming laugh, knocking over a few bottles of alcohol in his drunken celebration.

"Luck o' the Irish! I win again, Luce!"

"Ah, shut the hell up, Ruairi."

Everyone around the table, aside from Worth and Ruairi, looked from their cards to see us, though it was Finas that actually got around to announcing our arrival.

"Worth - it seems you have company..."

I had actually been slightly suprised when it came to my attention that Worth had not actually noticed when we entered the office. It wasn't as though we were hiding behind something, or had entered quietly. In fact, I had to restrain Hanna with both arms to keep him from charging at Ruairi, who was turning around to see where the ruckus was coming from.

Ruairi raised a brow at his son, and casually stuck his hands in his pockets. "Well fuck me sideways - Ya look terrible, Hanna."

"No thanks to you, _dad_."

The exchange between father and son wasn't exactly what one might call _heartwarming_, but in light of recent events, it was only to be expected. Especially since Hanna - and evidently Ruairi - weren't exactly the most well-adjusted people, but I wasn't one to judge. All I could do was make sure Hanna didn't kill anyone, and if need be, stop Ruairi from the same, as well.

"Dunno what'cher talkin' 'bout, Hanna. Maybe you should get yer _head checked _by my good ol' pal Worth..."

Worth looked up from the rim of the bottle he was in the middle of downing, and the group waited until he was finished drinking to speak up. "Don't be draggin' me into this, yeh drunk bastard."

"I'm not here for brain surgery this time, _anyway _- I came to make a Deal."

At that, Ruairi curled his fist and his jaw twitched. Casimiro got to his feet, obviously hoping to get in on the fight, judging by the grin splitting his face. Finas followed suit, hopefully to hold him back. Lamont took his stand next to me, clearly not comfortable with standing in the middle. To my suprise, Ruairi's face relaxed before stretching into a wide smile, though not as near as warm a smile he'd once shown Hanna in a dark parking lot, years ago.

"Anythin' fer you, kid."

"But first - why did you want Claus dead?"

I could nearly hear Hanna's heart beating, wondering if it had been Claus to set it in such motion, as I'd never heard it beat so loudly before, although I was always tuned in to it, in a way. Ruairi's eyes did a double-take, looking from my face, to Conrad's, and then back to Hanna's, as if one of our expressions might reveal the truth to him concerning Claus.

"Never wanted Claus dead..."

"Right - because when he died, you had no problem ruining his chance at life, and breaking my Deal."

Ruairi fell silent, and by that point, was no longer casual. He cast a hollow glare at his son, as if he knew what was to come. I observed, careful to keep close to Hanna, should he charge at his father again.

"I have enough to have you sentenced to death. _Please_. Give me a reason not to."

Ruairi was so wretched a man that he could not even come up with a positive and believable lie, even to save himself. My eyes caught movement to my left as Lamont stepped forward cautiously and laid his hand on one of Hanna's broad shoulders.

"Hanna - is killing him here really the best idea?"

"I'm not going to be the one to kill him. He broke my Deal - that's enough for me to get another Reaper to kill him." Hanna shot a half-hearted glare across the room at his father, although I could see pity from my angle. I knew Hanna wouldn't want to be there to see - or maybe he would. But was that really the best time to watch another loved one die? After having lost his only brother?

"Don't be a pussy, Hanna, I raised ya better than that, I think. Yer gonna do it, not some random-ass punk wit'a butcher's knife."

Hanna's glare softened notably. I stared at Ruairi, however our eyes didn't meet. He was giving up? Hanna had obviously been dreading that. As the son pulled out his magic marker, everyone seemed to tense, as if they feared that Hanna would actually go through with it, right in Worth's office. But I knew better. The rune Hanna was writing on his palm was one that I had seen before, one he had used on Veser once when the kid had become too annoying. An electric-lime-green lightening-like bolt of light wrapped itself around the room, until it circled back to Hanna, the man in the middle of the room. Only Ruairi that fell to the floor, unconscious, but alive.

* * *

Hanna betrayed his father's last wish, of course. I was not about to let him commit a murder. It took quite a while, but with some help from Worth, we were able to coax Lamont into taking us to a friend that would be willing to get the job done without any bloodshed, and Hanna could watch, if he wanted. I took it upon myself to carry the unconscious Irishman over my shoulder. We walked in silence for quite some time, until finally we reached an abandoned building. To my satisfaction, Hanna didn't even trip on something on the way there. Had Claus's sacrifice really made him better? I would have make him sleep when we finally got home, just for good measure.

With Lamont's advisement, everyone took a self-operated elevator to the very top of the old building, Lamont explaining that his friend actually owned gallows. Hanna seemed strangely quiet, and while everyone seemed to inquire about the company Lamont kept, I pulled my friend aside. I finally got a good look at him, his eyes were redder than his hair, and his face was pressed into an uncharacteristic grimace.

"No one's expecting you to do this, Hanna. We don't have to kill him."

Hanna shook his head, and I noted the remorse in his eyes as he spoke, "I don't _want _to kill him. But if I don't, someone else will, and I don't want him to..."

I got the message. From the memory and Hanna's tone of voice alone, I was able to draw my own conclusions about Ruairi. He clearly wasn't in a right state of mind, as he was when a young Hanna looked to him for comforting words. Perhaps years of alcohol or committing countless murders had driven the man to insanity, but one thing I was sure of: He wanted to die. Whether he really wanted Hanna to actually kill him or not might have been a good prompt to ruin Hanna's deal, but I couldn't be sure. And I wasn't going to seek confirmation.

When finally we reached the top of the building, Hanna held his head up high, and I kept my hand on his shoulder, just to let him know someone was there. Only leaving his side as I helped Lamont's friend tie the noose, as well as several other knots, while holding him upright. Lamont's friend, whose name happened to be Deimos, counted the seconds of Ruairi's trance on a watch. Three. Two. One - and surely enough, the Irishman lifted his head, and shivered in acknowledgment to the snow in his hair that he couldn't brush away. Deimos beckoned for me to step back, and I took my place next to Hanna.

Ruairi was facing our small crowd of eight, though he couldn't bring himself to look at any of us, his head bent, his eyes on the platform. He was a pitiful sight, his frail frame shivering in the cold, with his hands bound behind his back, unable to keep himself warm in his final moments. Deimos seemed to be reciting something, though it was in a language I couldn't comprehend. Hanna gripped the sleeve of my coat jacket, and I glanced down at the redhead, who was covering his mouth, as if to stop himself from letting out an agonized cry.

Deimos crossed the platform that would give under the victim's feet to a booth containing a system of levers. It was at that moment, in the last half-seconds of Ruairi's life that he looked up at us, his eyes taking in all of us before finally fixing on his son. It was as though he was finally sober, as though he was finally aware of what was going on around him. He smiled at Hanna and winked at him, as though silently wishing him luck. Hanna shut his eyes tight as Deimos jerked the lever, and I watched as the rope tugged, silencing the Irishman. I could just barely make out the top of his head as he drooped, unmoving in the chilled air. Hanna wrapped his arms around my waist, clearly unable to hold in the terrible sorrow of losing the last of his family in one day. In the breeze that carried the light snow, from the wind whistling through the air, I could almost will myself to hear Ruairi's reckless laugh - not the bark of an delirious fellow who'd won his poker game, but one of a devoted father. I only hope Hanna could hear it as well.

* * *

Sorry for the wait - I had some things to take care of.

I sort of ended it faster than I'd originally intended, but I think I made you guys wait a little too long...But never fear, I've got an epilouge to start on! One that'll hopefully answer most of your questions, though I'll leave you a few things to think about.

I wish I could have had more time with Ruairi, though...Maybe one day I can tack on some of his memories with baby Hanna.

Well - thanks for hanging around with me, I hope to see you for the epilouge and the new series I'm going to start soon. It's been a really fun ride, guys.


	9. Here's Hoping

{**A Few Weeks Later**}

I don't believe Hanna ever quite got over his loss, as though Claus and Ruairi were silently tacked on to the long list of scars he kept from the world. But I was content - it was a secret I knew, and when Hanna was feeling distressed about its resurfacing, I could help him through it. He still visited the park every day after that, stayed there for a few hours, and then would leave again and go on about his day. I would put my hand on his shoulder, mutter his name, would inquire about how well he was, but he only shrugged me away or ignored my call. And although I admit I was slightly offended, I respected Hanna's want for solitude nevertheless. So everyday I would wait for my short friend outside the park gates, but not before escorting him to the hill. Until one day, I think Hanna reached a crossroads, or something along those lines. When finally we had reached the top of the hill, Hanna stood shivering in the thick snow, but when I turned to leave, he tugged on my sleeve to stop me.

"Wait, Beethoven...Can we talk?"

I blinked, turning back to face Hanna. "Of course."

"I've been, well, ignoring you. Sorry, Hank, I guess I'm just used to doing this alone, or something."

A quiet wind, not unlike the whistling breeze of a few weeks prior, rushed past us. Hanna's hair whipped around his face before settling when again the silence greeted us. I smiled and put my hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Hanna. Don't apologize."

Hanna smiled back, although it was a half-hearted effort. I felt slightly relieved; he was finally talking again. Maybe he would begin to eat again, too? I had to encourage him.

What was he like? Claus?"

"He was...A good friend. In the beginning. He would talk to me when Ruairi was too...Drunk, I guess...You would have liked him, Steve."

"You think so?"

"Yeah - he had that facetious sense of humor...You two would've gotten along great. He used to read to me all the time."

I chuckled quietly, and Hanna followed suit. Soon we were laughing and smiling, enjoying the memories of Hanna's brother and best friend. I didn't dare ask him about Ruairi, because Hanna deserved room. Room to let his smiles grow, to recover.

And so visiting every day became every week, until it was once a month, and then finally there was a single day on our calendar dedicated to Claus, marked in an electric-blue cross. We would visit the hill on that day, the day of Claus's passing, and mourn him. We would stand there, sometimes for fifteen minutes, or perhaps thirty, however long Hanna needed. On good days, when Hanna was strong enough, we would even visit Deimos's home atop the closed apartment building. Though we rarely saw the hunched man, when we did, he was quick to get out of our way.

But yesterday was an exception. The other day Deimos saw me and beckoned me forward, although before I moved, I looked to Hanna for approval, and he nodded silently. But before I could even so much as open my mouth to speak, Deimos dug his stubby hand into his pocket and pulled out a few poorly-folded sheets of paper. He smoothed them out before gingerly handing them to me. Before I looked down at my 'gift' I sent a questioning gaze his way.

"I found 'em in his pockets. That man's. I dunno what they're 'bout, but I thought yah might've wanted 'em."

I raised a brow, but I didn't ask why he had rifled through Ruairi's pockets. I waited until the man left, waddling off in an odd fashion, watching after him as he did so. Finally looking down at the papers, I realized they were letters. Most were addressed to Hanna, although several had initials I was unfamiliar with. I looked over my shoulder to my friend, who was clearly occupied with his own wandering thoughts. He trusted me enough not to glance over his shoulder constantly, (assuming he could even see past them) so should I show him the letters? They could contain something so terrible, that it could throw Hanna back, waste all my precious progress. I shook my head. No. He had to see. I tapped Hanna's shoulder, and he turned to see me, smiling again. When he saw the papers I held out, he took them with piqued curiosity. I watched as his expressions changed during the course of the first letters, and as he finally became content at the last one. He folded them up, but before he stowed them into his pocket, he glanced up at me. A smile grew on his face again. A real one.

"You should read this one. Go ahead - I don't mind, Mick."

I took the papers, but not without a slight hesitation. I unfolded the yellowing paper and began to let my eyes dance down the page of quickly-scrawled cursive handwriting.

_Hanna -_

_Work has really gotten rough, but don't worry, I'll hold out. I sent Claus to keep an eye on you, so you'd better thank him. With words._  
_Anyhoo, I hope to see you soon, Hanna. Check up with Worth for me, would you?_

_Roo._

I then read the second, although to whom it was written was a mystery.

_E.C. - December 3_

_I miss you, just as much as I miss Hanna. I may not have been able to give up a job for you two, but at least I didn't leave him willingly. Love, you and I both know he wouldn't have to live with your sister if you weren't so damn stubborn. She isn't even married to that man yet, and Hanna could live with you. I just hope you know you've torn the family in half. Hanna's going through hell, wondering who his mother is, and you haven't even visited me. Why don't you answer him, at least?_

_Ruairi_

At first, I did not understand. What significance did this letter hold over the ones addressed to the second person? What were they again, PC? Hanna smiled at my confusion, and I handed the letter back to him.

"Claus was wrong...Ruairi didn't hate me. He wanted me to live, so he made Claus a ghost...To watch over me..."

I let the truth sink in. Ruairi was willing to sacrifice an infant for his son's well fare? That was certainly a touching thought, but that also meant we had sent him to death under false pretences. I closed my eyes tight as a memory nagged in the back of my mind. Hanna had said something about not wanting to be the one to kill Ruairi but if he didn't...What? If he didn't, what would have happened? I opened my mouth slowly, and quickly decided in those agonizing minutes whether or not to bring this thought to light.

I couldn't. Perhaps Hanna already knew it, maybe he just didn't want to say it. No, I suppose it was better left unsaid. But Hanna was already looking up at me, as though waiting for me to speak, so I picked a second question that stood prominent in mind.

"Who's E.C., then?"

"Elisabeth Cross - my mother...She hanged herself when I was a baby...I guess it messed him up pretty bad."

I nodded in agreement, and Hanna and I watched as the late-winter sky slowly became black. He looked up at the clouds with a smile on his face. Not his usual smile, but the smile one might see if their friend had all his questions answered.

As time continues to wear on, I watch as Hanna slowly becomes the man he was before we was ever ill, or perhaps a better person than before. Winter is turning to spring, and with the blooming flowers come new cases, and a new chapter in Hanna's story. I'm only glad to be there with him, for better or for worse.

{**End**}

* * *

That's it. Finally. I finally finished a story.

Yep, I'd never finished anything before this. Actually, I almost didn't finish this one. I'm glad I had you guys to help me.

**Credit**:

Hanna is Not a Boy's Name, by Tessa Stone, who is really awesome.  
Claus, Ruairi, and Deimos, belong to me, as well as the fic.

**Musical Muses**:

Float On, Modest Mouse  
Company II, Philip Glass  
Locked In a Room, Oren Lavie  
And just about everything by TSO.

**Special Thanks**:

To Kirsten-Korona, because sometimes I'm speaking in my own language.

And to everyone who reviewed and/or read my story! I'll see you again real soon!


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